Faeridelle Ice and Dark
by amichan2
Summary: Based on the side story in volume 8. Faeridelle falls in love with Elliot, and Karl strikes a deal with the spirit of time....
1. Of Birth and Children

**NOTICE**: Because there were some things I wanted to do with this story that I ended up not doing, the story lost a lot of what it originally was supposed to be, so here is starting from scratch. Hopefully it'll go right this time. Happy reading!  
  


** Faeridelle-   
"Ice and Dark"   
Chapter One: Of Birth and Babes**   
  
_Then Esau looked up and saw the women and children.  
"Who are these with you? he asked. Jacob answered, "They  
are the children God has graciously given your servant."  
  
Genesis 33:5  
_

Eleanor panted heavily, grimacing through the sweat pouring down her brow. Her skin was a deep red---nearly purple---from the strenuous effort she had been exerting for what felt like eternity, but was really just over twenty hours. Sure enough, she felt the impossible heat not only on her face, but through the rest of her body as well, most significantly her pelvis. She vaguely heard from a distance the midwives forcefully telling to her to push a little more, and she complied weakly as best as she could.   
  
It didn't take much too long after that---but to her, the process seemed like forever---until she gasped with the release of the weight that she had carried for so long, and felt the wet object between her legs. She heard a knife cutting the umbilical cord apart, and a hand reaching to pull something out from inside her. And then she was free. She slumped against the padding supporting her, feeling the fire still hot in her womb. The color drained from her face, and her skin became like that of parchment. She felt hot, then cold, and then hot again, all in quick succession, and wished her body would pick a temperature and stop already.   
  
And then Idyll was there, blessed, beloved Idyll, pressing a soothing cold cloth to her forehead. Another midwife was quickly wiping clean her thighs with yet another cold wet cloth, and she relaxed very slightly in relief that it was all over, slumping back further against the pillows. Then, she felt a surge of warm blood rush out between her legs. The pain in her pelvis was grinding and so blinding that she thought she would pass out.   
  
"Idyll!" she uttered hoarsely, weakly. "Idyll! What is this?" she gasped again when another flood of blood rushed through painfully, soaking everything on the mattress. Idyll was, apparently, busy elsewhere tending to whatever was going on. "Idyll!" she repeated at a whisper, panting. "Save me!"   
  
"There is too much blood coming out," someone was saying. "We can do nothing to stop it. We cannot save her. Call the priest, and inform Lord Morgen that his wife is not faring well," that person said tightly to a maidservant, who presumably ran to fetch the priest. Idyll glared at the midwife who had sent the maidservant, and, picking up her skirts, rushed after the girl indignantly, intent on stopping the poor child in her path.   
  
The other midwives looked after her retreating figure, and shook their heads in exasperation, wondering when Idyll would give up. It was a situation that they no doubt had all seen before---there was no cure to save a woman in child labor who was already bleeding in the womb. And bled she had, for Eleanor was now fading away before them. Her skin grew paler and paler, and they knew that it was nearly the end. 

Meanwhile, Morgen was pacing repeatedly in the nursery, outside the birth room. It had been twenty-six long hours since Eleanor began her contractions, and yet he still heard no news from the midwives. Every time they scurried past him to fetch something, they answered his questions with quick vague non-answers. It had been a painful and long pregnancy, though, from what he had hears so far, and he provided her well with everything she needed, from midwives, nurses, to any precious ingredients she could possibly need. He was in desperate need for a son to inherit his lands and castle, for he was determined not to let Castle Morgen be occupied by whatever dolt-headed Duke the king might send after he died.  
  
Morgen stopped mid-step---a servant had hurried out from the birth room to him, "The boy is fine, my lord." The meek servant girl murmured nervously.   
  
"A son, then?" Morgan asked triumphantly with a look on his face that was rather reminiscent of a cat's look after it pounced on a rat. He turned to walk to the birth room to see his new son.   
  
"Yes, my lord. The lady... does not fare well."  
  
Morgen stopped in his path, a stricken expression on his face. "Will she survive, you think?"  
  
"I..."  
  
"Very well. You, over there," he snapped, aggravated, to a manservant nearby.   
  
"Y-yes, your grace," the young boy replied anxiously. The lady. Dying? It was no small news. The town would be in an uproar.   
  
"Send word to his Lord Provost, and begin to make the preparations for a funeral. I do not want anything that was said in this room repeated to anyone other than his Lord Provost. Understood?"  
  
"Yes, m'lord," the boy bowed as low as he could. If the lady were to die, he'd best ensure his chances of not getting thrown out to the streets. When Lord Morgen took up day-to-day affairs at the house, he would not be so lenient as Lady Eleanor had been.   
  
"Is that wise, my Lord?" Idyll had come up behind him while he was speaking to the young servant. "Lady Eleanor is not yet dead."  
  
"But she will not survive, will she?"  
  
"Well," Idyll admitted, "it's unlikely, but--"  
  
"Then I need to begin to prepare for a funeral. A duchess's death is no small matter." He looked at the boy servant, "Well? What are you waiting for? Go on!" The boy scurried off. Idyll glared at him, a hot reply on her tongue, but she thought better, and returned to the birthing room. At the moment, there was nothing she could do to change Morgen's stubborn mind, and she had to tend to Eleanor.   
  
She prayed fervently that it was not too late. 

-------------------

Eleanor cried tears that she thought she had run out of during the labor, the pain grinding away. The pain was so blinding that she could not see. However, she had clearly not blacked out yet, because she heard soon Idyll returning, arguing away passionately.   
  
"No!" Idyll was saying forcefully. "We cannot let my lady go!"   
  
"We must!"   
  
And still the pain persisted. "Idyll!" Eleanor cried soundlessly, her voice worn out from hours of screaming. "Idyll," she pleaded pitifully, whispering, "make it stop."   
  
"We must let her go. There is no other way," someone insisted. "Feed her the brew, Idyll. Relieve her of this pain. The poison acts fast. She will be free within the hour."   
  
It wasn't long before a priest was at the foot of her bed, chanting what sounded like the death rites. Was she dying? Her head hurt, as did everything else, and she wished that the priest would stop already. He went on with the rites for quite a while. Then, there was silence. A moment later, Idyll was there by her side.   
  
"Eleanor," Idyll was saying, her wise, wrinkled face appearing before Eleanor's feverish eyes. "Eleanor," there were tears on Idyll's cheeks, Eleanor mused in a corner of her mind. Idyll never cried. "Eleanor. Drink this, now. Be a good child, and you shall feel better." Idyll choked, and held up the contents of a cup to Eleanor. "Go to sleep now, child."   
  
"The baby---" Eleanor muttered through her pain, suddenly remembering vaguely that she had a child now.   
  
"The baby will be fine, child," Idyll replied soothingly through tears. "Go to sleep."  
  
Eleanor obeyed. 

Idyll sat down and held Eleanor's hand for what seemed like an eternity, trusting the other midwives to washing and dressing the newborn child. She knew, in her mind, that Eleanor could not have survived no matter what she did about it, but she still wanted to slit her own throat for allowing the other midwives to force her to end Eleanor's life. Eleanor may be better off now without the pain she would have endured if she were still on this earth, but was there not even a small chance that she could have survived?  
  
There was not.   
  
All that Idyll could do, then, was to hold Eleanor's hand until the last moment. Memories surged through Idyll's mind, as she remembered Eleanor's mother, giving birth to Eleanor, more than nineteen years ago. She remembered the little girl who had run about in the fields, not knowing what was in her future, and, quite frankly, not caring. And then she remembered the moment Eleanor's parents consented to wed her, at age fifteen, to the duke of their province. She remembered Eleanor's tears as she parted from her parents and her older brother. She remembered Eleanor's forced smile at the wedding.   
  
She remembered all this, all the while feeling Eleanor's hand go cold. At last, she stood up and felt the girl's pulse. Crying, she turned away to deliver the news to the duke. She commanded a servant to pick up the baby from his crib, and she trudged out to the nursery, the servant scuttling in her wake.   
  
Outside, the duke was waiting impatiently, facing away from her. He turned to her, and saw the child, but he only stood and scrutinized the worn look on Idyll's face.   
  
"Is she gone, then?" he asked finally.  
  
"Yes," she replied bitterly.   
  
"I place the child under your care, then, Idyll. You are well-versed in the caring of children, what with all the children's stories you always told Eleanor, and you are good with herb lore and will take care of my child well through any illnesses he might have. I trust you are well-suited to the task. Care for him well."  
  
Idyll glared at him for a long moment, about to reprimand him for the careless way he brushed off the death of his wife and throwing his only son to a nanny without a qualm, even if that nanny was one who raised his young wife himself. Then, she stopped in that train of thought. Who would care for this child if she were to anger Lord Morgen and be cast out? She sighed inwardly and resolved to raise this child so that he would never become like his ignorant father.   
  
"Yes, my lord," Idyll murmured. "What shall the child be called?"  
  
Lord Morgen looked at Idyll long and hard. "Bring the child to me."  
  
The servant who was holding the newborn out to him, "If it pleases your grace, this be the child, your lordship, sir."  
  
Morgen stared at the child without touching him. Finally, after a very long moment, he said majestically, "This boy will be called Elliot, after his mother. Yes... he will be called Elliot Morgen. Care for him well, Idyll." He swept away out the door, leaving Idyll alone with the babe and the servant who had shown him the child.  
  
"Well," Idyll said after a long moment, taking Elliot from the servant's arms. "We'd best get to work then. Light a fire in that hearth, Nana; the child will be cold. When you're done, bring me a kettle with warm water and my medicine box, the one with yarrow, acrimony, elder, and willow in it. The child will need to be cleansed thoroughly with the proper herbs in the water."  
  
"Yes, ma'am," Nana scurried to fetch firewood from a basket in a corner of the recently refurbished room for the task of raising the duke's new child. The room had been prepared well for the raising of a noble Duke's child, and Idyll had seen to it that the babe would have everything he needs. She had not expected to have to live here day in and day out to care for the child---she had thought Eleanor would have done it.   
  
Staring at the small dancing fire that was just lit in the hearth, Idyll held the child in her arm, absently rocking the infant and making soothing noises at him.  
  
"Don't cry now. It shall be warm here soon enough," she murmured, sitting down on a soft velvet one-seat couch, still staring at the fire thoughtfully.  
  
The boy was under her charge now, and she'd be damned if she let the child grow up to be like his father. Idyll had cared for this child's mother well, and she will care for this child now. The old woman looked tenderly at the baby. Yes. She would take care of this infant as if it were her own.  
  
"Now, now, child. You'll be just fine," she murmured. "Tell you what: I'll sing you a story, hm?"   
  
She rocked the baby and began singing, "Once upon a time..."

-------------------

The midwife's brows furrowed. "Come on, dear. Push!"   
  
"Oh..." the mother groaned. "It hurts so! I'll just be like Lady Eleanor, bleeding to death during childbirth."   
  
"Of course you won't, dear," the midwife assured the woman. "This pain is normal. She had a hard childbirth. You're rather having it easy, if you ask me."  
  
The woman glared at the midwife. "This? Easy? Ahhhhh...." She moaned. But the midwife had taken a firm hold on the baby and pulled the baby out.   
  
The midwife sighed in relief at the fact that it finally became clear that babe and mother would both be fine. After caring for Lady Eleanor, she had expected another impossible birthing, but the labor passed without any sort of problems.   
  
She poked her head out the bedroom door, and saw that the child's father was pacing nervously, swear pouring down his brow as if _he_ were the one who were in labor.   
  
The midwife chuckled, "You can come in now."  
  
"How is my wife? And the baby? Is it a boy or a girl?"  
  
"They're both fine," the midwife smiled wryly, picking up the child from the crib.   
  
"And?"  
  
"Well, well," she was put the child at his mother's breast, "healthy like an ox, this boy is. He'll be a handsome one."  
  
"It's a boy, then?" the father asked eagerly.   
  
"Aye, and a greedy one at that," the midwife said, looking on as the babe sucked eagerly at his mother's milk. "Well, my work here is done. If you need any more help, you know where to find me."   
  
"Thank you, ma'am, ever so much," the father placed a bag of corn flour in her hands, the price he had promised for being midwife to his wife.   
  
"You're welcome," the midwife said kindly, taking the flour. "What will you be naming the babe, then?"  
  
The father beamed, "Karl. He'll be called Karl." 

-------------------

"Well, my wife gave a healthy child yesterday. The babe is quite in the pink of health. It was quite messy, the birth was, but the midwife tells me all births are messy as such, so I can only suppose it's common to see so much blood and mess. It was all very interesting, until the babe was passed to me. I was lost the moment the midwife put the child in my hands, and I'd no clue what to do with her, but I'm quite proud of the babel." the ragged man boasted.  
  
"It's a girl then?" the tavern owner asked, polishing a washed wineglass with a soft cloth.  
  
"Aye. A healthy, beautiful little girl. Now, I would've asked for a son, but you know how women are, no offense, mistress," he nodded at the owner's wife. "My wife adores the little girl, and I suppose I couldn't ask for more than that."  
  
"Aye, you're a good man, but you know nothing of raising children!" the tavern owner's wife replied, easily balancing several dirty plates on one hand on the way to the kitchen. She was laughing. "You'd best start figurin' out what you're to do when all those fancy men begin to pursue her. If she's anything like your wife, she'll be just a beauty. "  
  
"That she'll be. Ah, well, I've plenty of years to learn, eh?"  
  
"Not so many years, really," another man piped up, chuckling. "My daughter was all grown by the time I realized she would grow at all, and just when I thought I learned how to raise a child, my wife gave me my son last month! Raising a boy child will be the death of me, surely!" He took a drink and bellowed a barrage of loud laughter.   
  
"Well, well," the tavern owner went back to polishing the glass that he had set aside while talking to the men. "All these newborn babes within the month. The gods be smiling down on us, they are."  
  
"Aye. The duke himself was blessed with a healthy son. 'Tis a pity the boy has no mother to raise him now."  
  
"That duke couldn't raise a child if his life depended on it! He'll be depending entirely on the lady's old nanny to take care of the child, I bet," the tavern owner's wife muttered indignantly. "All he does all day is try to figure out how to please the king, how to get more money from us poor people, how to--"  
  
"Hush now," her husband rebuked her, alarmed. "You don't want to invite no trouble."  
  
"Aye, you should be careful what you say around here, madam. His grace has ears everywhere," the men who spoke up about daughters growing up much too fast said knowingly, while looking around the room meaningfully.   
  
There was a moment of scrutinizing silence, and at last the tavern owner's wife said, "Well, what did you name the babe, then?"  
  
"My wife named her, and it's a quaint name, too. She be listening to too many of those folk tales, my wife has. She named the babe Faeridelle." 

  
  
**To be continued.**  
  
  
A/N:   
  
Well, well, here's the rewrite. If you've read the original, you'd see that I put pieces of the original version in here (particularly Karl's birth and the tavern scene), and that the story has changed a lot. It's very nearly twice as long as it was before, and the reason for that is that I thought up an entire personality for Eleanor. I would have written her whole story, but it was rather unrelated to this story. She had such a lovely and tragic story, too. Heh. Perhaps I'll write a story about her someday---she's not even a D N Angel character!   
  
Hopefully the birthing scenes weren't too gory. I tried to express the pain involved in childbirth---although I technically would not know because I'm still rather a virgin (*laugh*), and I did quite a bit of research about it---looked into books and asked my mother _and_ grandmother, and such. I'm trying very hard to keep this within the PG-13 limit, but God only knows what it'll be like when Elliot and Faeridelle begin to fall in love. . Rabid teenage hormones running amok.   
  
Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed that last chapter. I tried my best to tell the story here, and I hope you'll try your best to be a responsible reader, too, and offer constructive criticism.   
  
DNAngel belongs to lots of big scary companies, but not me (quite unfortunately heh). Too bad.   
  
Last, but not least, much thanks goes to Sherry who read this over and suggested lots of grammar fixings and made me add another kilobyte or so onto the Karl scene, because she thought it was too short compared to the other two children's. It probably is still too short, but it's much better than it was before. Thanks, Sherry.  
  
Thanks for reading!   
  
_Amy Pan  
October 29th, 2003  
10:09 PM_  



	2. The Passage of Time

** Faeridelle-   
"Ice and Dark"   
Chapter One: The Passage of Time**  
  
_"There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven: a time   
to be born and a time to die... a time to kill and a time to heal... a time to weep and  
a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance... a time to embrace and a time   
to refrain... a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace."  
  
Ecclesiastes 3:1 _

  
  
"Your penmanship certainly has improved, young master," the writing master said, scrutinizing a piece of parchment in his hands, "but your verb usage has yet more space for improvement." He looked down on Elliot, who was about six, and was dressed as any other noble boy would be--in a neatly pressed fine silk cream-colored shirt, a deep green tunic delicately embroidered with even deeper green vines, and silk brown breeches. "You must pay attention to the relationship between the verbs and the subjects."  
  
"Yes, sir," Elliot said meekly, looking at the ground.   
  
"Well, on account of your penmanship drastically improving this week, you are excused for the rest of the day. Remember to do your writing work tonight, and look out for the verbs."  
  
"Yes, sir." Elliot bowed low and walked out the room as fast as he could without seeming disrespectful. Once he was in the corridor, he ran as fast as he could to the kitchen. "Grandmother Idyll! The writing master said that I am free for the rest of the day. May I please go to the market with you?" he looked pleadingly at her through large shining brown eyes.   
  
Idyll looked down at him kindly, and smiled, wondering absently if any child could be more adorable. "Of course you may, child. Run along and change into your old clothes. You don't want to get these nice new clothes dirty, now."  
  
"Yes, Grandmother," Elliot replied, bowing politely, and ran out to the corridor as fast as his small legs could carry him.   
  
The child was growing distant from her already at this early age, Idyll thought ruefully. No matter how hard she tried, she could not replace the role of a loving mother or father to him, and Elliot was all but an orphan, only seeing Morgen at meals and at his pompous, official banquets. There was nothing Idyll could do to give him true companionship, because she was an older person to him. Yes, he loved her well and adored her lovely fairy tales, and yes, he respected her. However, she could not help but think he would do well with a companion or two of his own age.

-------------------

Skipping and singing a merry song, a fair little girl about the age of six led a little boy of the same age by the hand through the streets, even though it was cold and they both breathed clouds of white warm breath into the winter air. They had been to the town many times before, although both of them were raised on the farms in the outskirts of the village.   
  
"Where are we going, Faeridelle?" The little boy wriggled his hand out of her grasp an slowed. "You know we're not allowed this far into the town without an adult with us." He looked rather ruffled, and was breathing hard in the cold harsh air. There was plenty of snow on the ground, and the wind blew strong upon the children.   
  
"Oh come on, Karl." Faeridelle turned back for a second and grinned at home prettily. "Are you afraid?"  
  
"Me?" Karl glared at her back as she ran from him further. He sprinted to catch up. "Of course I'm not afraid," he shouted.   
  
"Then come on already!" Faeridelle shouted back.   
  
Karl followed her through the winding streets, and together they marveled at some of the shops. Soon Faeridelle saw a bronze flash in the corner of her eye and stopped before the shop that she had seen it in. In the small old ship window there was an old hand-carved wooden clock with a lovely embossed brown face and gold-plated clock hands ticking away regally.   
  
"It's wondrous!" she breathed in wonder at the exquisite artwork. "If only..."  
  
"It is pretty," Karl commented dubiously. It did not look too special to him. Faeridelle did not fail to notice this, and she rolled her eyes impatiently.   
  
"Oh all right, come on." And they took off again through the streets.   
  
Together they ran through the alleyways and all the crooks and crannies of the town, and eventually, in the center of the town, they came upon the old clock tower that used to chime the hours many years ago and had long since rusted away to uselessness. Karl looked up and stared wonderingly at the giant tower that rose up into the sky, with its still bell sitting regally in a chamber at the top. Faeridelle, however, had already pulled the tower door open with a loud_ CREAK _and curiously poked her head in.  
  
"Faeridelle! Don't go in there!"  
  
"I want to go see the bell!" Faeridelle looked seriously back at him, pulling back the door wide enough so that they could fit through one at a time. Before he could reply, she had squeezed in the opening of the door and dashed up the stone steps in the tower.   
  
"Faeridelle!" Karl called out desperately. She was running up the stairs just ahead of him with astounding speed. "Just come back! Please! It's not safe up there!"  
  
"Come on, Karl!" Faeridelle turned around, her large braid, ribbons, and petticoats flying around her prettily. She shouted in reply gleefully, "I thought you weren't afraid?"  
  
"Of course I'm not! Why would I be afraid? You should be the one who is afraid. You're a girl!"   
  
"That's silly. We girls don't scare as easily as boys think we do. Now, are you coming or not?"   
  
Faeridelle turned back around and, gathering her petticoats off the ground so that she would not trip over it, and began her trek up the clock tower stairs again, the braid she had made of her light hair that morning bouncing cheerily after her. Karl stared after her hair that glinted in the dim light, watching her flowing ribbons and petticoats for one dumbfounding moment.   
  
How pretty, he thought stupidly for a moment, then shook his head to clear his head. Mother would say I was being silly again, he told himself.   
  
"Oh, for goodness' sake---" Karl scowled and mentally smacked himself for being so stupid. "All right! I'm coming already--wait for me!" He pelted up the stairs after Faeridelle, skipping steps as best as a six year old child could without tripping all over himself, and tried very hard not to be frightened by the eerie dark stone walls that made up the corridor for the stairs that wound up around a central pillar inside the tower, with only small slits of windows for lighting. He almost succeeded.   
  
"Come on! I see a door!" Faeridelle stopped and grinned just as he shook off a shiver of fear. She was beckoning him to her with her hand in an impatient motion. "This must be the top! Let's go!"   
  
She dashed up the rest of the flight of stairs and stopped at the door, panting slightly. By this time, her hair had all but come undone. She was quite a sight, Karl thought, with her hair flying about wildly and her face flushed from the climb.   
  
"It's..." Faeridelle breathed wonderingly upon studying the door. "It's _ wondrous_." It was quite amazing, Karl had to admit. The door was made of well-preserved oak, and was studded with all sorts of bronze plating. A centerpiece was nailed squarely in the center of the door, and it bore an exquisitely embossed inscription in flowing calligraphy. It meant nothing to either of the children, however, as they did not know how to read. Karl stared at the door in wonder, and found himself speechless for a long moment.   
  
"Well? Are you going to go in?" he demanded after a moment of recovering from the run and regaining his breath (as well as staring at the door). The door had no handle nor any visible sign that it could even be opened, except for the fact that it was set two inches into the wall and was so extravagantly decorated.   
  
"Of course I'm going in!" Faeridelle pushed lightly on the door experimentally. There was an unmistakable click of a latch coming undone on the other side.   
  
Karl swallowed. Everyone in the town kept their doors well locked. Who in their right mind would leave a door unlocked like this anyway? He looked at the door again, and realized that Faeridelle had gone through it. Last chance to back out, he thought to himself, then sighed in exasperation, and followed her.   
  
"Oh!" Faeridelle was saying. "It's amazing," she breathed. Neither of them realized that the door behind them -- plain and undecorated on this side of it -- had swung shut silently.   
  
Karl's gaze followed the direction that Faeridelle was looking at, and he had to agree. Other than the usual large clock work machinery in a clock tower and the ever-present stone walls, inside the surprisingly spacey room were swirls and swirls of crystal twirling up from the ground gracefully in seemingly random places all throughout the room, nearly filling it. In the center of a room was a large empty circle, at the center of which was a swirl of crystals that was directly rooted into the ground and swirled up to nearly Faeridelle's height. In front of it, as if guarding the crystal, was a silver sword gleaming with diamonds embedded into the hilt. At the top of the crystal was a curve that held a single object.   
  
Faeridelle reached out to pluck the diamond-embedded silver clock hand from the curve in the crystal.   
  
She stared at the beautiful clock hand in her hands for a moment, entranced. "It's _beautiful_."   
  
Karl was beginning to definitely feel something strange going on. Something was not right, but he could not tell what it as. At that very moment, he heard a sound, "Someone's coming! Hide!"   
  
Faeridelle looked at the door and heard the footsteps approaching as well. She dashed for one of the miniature swirls of crystal mountains and hid behind one while Karl followed closely at her heel.   
  
Faeridelle peeked around the crystal she was hiding behind, and saw that as the door swung open silently, in walked a man with eerily white hair, eyes, and... wings?   
  
The man strode over to the crystal at the center, and saw that a certain something was missing.   
  
"The clock hand--" his eyes widened. He swore, turned, and looked around the room angrily. Faeridelle quickly hid herself fully behind the crystal once more, and then she heard the man swear again. "Damn you, Dark," he hissed, and in a flash dashed out the door before either child could register what was going on in their minds.   


-------------------

"Grandmother Idyll," Elliot was saying, dressed in a clean, simple cotton shirt and a worn pair of clean trousers. "I am ready to go now."   
  
Idyll looked up at him from the herbs she had been working on before he came in. They were quite low on willow bark, and she had been cleaning a new batch for drying. She spread them on a piece of cloth set it all on the hearth to dry. Removing her apron, she wiped her hands. "All right, then, young master. Shall we go?" she smiled at him kindly.   
  
Elliot smiled lightly in the way that only children had, looking serene and solemn at the same time. "Yes."   
  
Together they set out on foot to the market. It was not the first time they had gone to the marketplace together, and on the way he often stopped and crouched down in front of some odd, unknown plant he had not seen before, asking her what it was. She would then tell him the name of the plant, its uses, and sometimes stories that had the plants in them. It was a happy time for both of them, and they both enjoyed each other's company on the way to the market every time they went.   
  
As they neared the marketplace, they saw many more people than they had on the road. Most recognized them as inhabitants of the Duke's castle, and greeted them courteously. Most knew the child well from his trips with Idyll to the market, and they liked his manners. Clearly, they all felt that he was not nearly as greedy or stupendous as his father was. Elliot, in turn, greeted them back politely, and was still slightly nervously aware of the fact that he was to rule over all these people one day.   
  
Really, he thought, he should have gotten over that bit of anxiety, or at least got used to it. However, it was rather a hard notion to get rid of.   
  
This continued as Idyll looked through items she needed for the castle and bargained well for them. She was not buying the usual kitchen things -- the cook did that. She was buying plants and tools for her simple herbs, for her job was in caring for Elliot. Most herbs she could not find in the shops, and had to pick them herself or send one of the more intelligent servants of the castle to pick them for her. Today, however, she was buying common herbs that the limited collection of the marketplace offered. Elliot followed quietly, seemingly attentive to what she was doing and buying at the moment, but after a few stalls in the market, his attention began to waver. This, of course, did not escape Idyll.   
  
"Why don't you run off and play, Elliot?" the old woman said to him kindly, balancing several parcels in her arms. "I will meet you at the entrance of the market at noon. You have your watch that your father gave you, do you not?"  
  
"Of course, Grandmother. Really, may I really go play?" Elliot's eyes lit up with hope.   
  
"Yes, you may."  
  
Elliot started to turn away, and then looked back, confused. "But Grandmother, you do not have a watch. How will you be able to tell the time?"  
  
Idyll chuckled. "I will know, child. The movements of the sun is what tells me the time. Now, run along." 

-------------------

"What are we going to do?" Karl asked Faeridelle nervously.   
  
Faeridelle was deep in thought, looking quite adorable as she perched atop a rock in the plains near the town, holding the clock hand in a handkerchief in her hands. The snow was less thick here, and only a thin layer covered the ground. The snow had mostly melted already, and the top of the rock was quite dry.   
  
In their hurry to leave the clock tower, she had forgotten to put the clock hand back, and she would really rather not have to go back to the tower again. She did not like the glint in that odd light-haired -- nearly white, really -- man's eyes anyways, and had grown protective of the beautiful jeweled clock hand. It was shaped delicately and intricately, with patterns of diamond swirling around it. The point of the clock hand was quite sharp, and she drew blood on it. She winced, and put the wounded finger in her mouth, sucking on it gently.   
  
"I don't like that man," she murmured decidedly after a moment of thought.   
  
"But what if he comes after us? This must be worth _fortunes_!" Karl said worriedly.   
  
"If you won't be quiet," Faeridelle replied firmly, "I will leave you here and find another place to think at."   
  
Karl remained silent for a moment. "What are you going to do with it, then?" he blurted out.   
  
"I am going to keep it safe with me always," she stated quite decidedly.   
  
He knew that she could, too. Her clothes were nearly always neat, and she never lost a doll. If she meant to keep it by her side always, she would. Karl watched her as she wrapped it up in her cotton handkerchief, took out a spare handkerchief, and wrapped the first bundle in the new cloth, taking extra care to go over the point of the clock hand several times so that its sharp edge was well covered.   
  
"Well," she said decidedly, standing up, "I am going to play by the river. Are you coming?" From her tone, Karl knew she didn't want to talk about the clock tower any further.   
  
He sighed, and followed her as she walked lightly towards the marketplace. Near the entrance of the market place was a lovely stone bridge over a small creek, and it was one of her favorite places to play.   
  
When they walked by the market entrance, though, Faeridelle noticed a young boy their own age looking at them with a bewildered look on his face. It was a boy she did not recognize, and she knew all the other children in the town well.   
  
"Hello," she smiled kindly at the boy. "What is your name?" Karl tried his best not to glare at the new boy.   
  
He looked at her for a moment, frowning in embarrassment. "I--um, my name is Elliot."  
  
"Well, my name is Faeridelle, and this is Karl. How come I've never seen you before?" Faeridelle took a step towards him, curious as always.   
  
"My father," Elliot replied. "He doesn't let me out of the house much."   
  
"I see," Faeridelle said politely. "Well," she said after a moment of thought, "since you're here now, do you want to play with us?" Again, Karl told himself that he did_ not_ want to hit this Elliot person who showed up out of nowhere. _  
  
_Elliot, however, took no notice of Karl's reaction, and neither did Faeridelle. _  
  
_"Yes," Elliot was saying. "It would be rather nice to play with you." I'm always alone, he thought. Could he really play with other children? _  
  
_"Come with us then," Faeridelle smiled brightly, and took his hand, tugging him towards the bridge. _  
  
_Elliot smiled back.  
  
  
**To be continued.**  
  
  
A/N:   
  
The rewriting done in this chapter wasn't as extensive as in chapter one. I still added a good 6+ kb on it though, and I'm actually pretty happy with the chapter (for once). Then again, I liked the first version of this chapter too. As you can see, this chapter is a loaded one, and it introduces how the three main characters met (which was the original purpose of the chapter anyways). Hopefully it was enjoyable and acceptable writing, too.   
  
DNAngel belongs to many big scary companies, but not too me. Pooh.   
  
Please be a responsible reader and review.  
  
_Amy Pan  
December 9th, 2003  
5:32 PM_  



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